Why did we send in the Marines for fourth-form disco?

A World Cup evening at Wembley and the questions came crowding in. Why did the FA declare the match a sell-out when there were empty seats all over the stadium? What was the point of that?

And why was kick-off delayed so that a Royal Marine could abseil from the roof with the match ball? What was that all about? Year upon year, we become a little more like the Americans in our obsession with the military. With the greatest respect to the armed forces, there are times when Wembley feels like the Royal Tournament.

Obsession: A Royal Marine hands the ball to referee Gediminas Mazeika

And why did they hire that match announcer, the DJ from the fourth-form disco? 'Gooooal, Waaaayne Roooneeeyyy! … Englaaaaaand!' Shouldn't a World Cup qualifier be above that kind of naffness? And another thing: why do they continue to admit that unspeakable band? The tuneless rabble from Sheffield who slaughter The Great Escape and Rule Britannia at depressingly frequent intervals. The Ukrainians got it right at the Euros when they confiscated their instruments in Donetsk. Why can't the FA follow this civilised example?

So much to discover, so many questions; we're bound to leave something out. Ah yes, the match. England v San Marino. The kindest thing to say is that it is easily forgotten. I have been shuffling along to Wembley for a good many years, and I cannot recall another game which left me convinced that the England coaching staff could have beaten the opposition.

True, at the age of 56, Ray Lewington has lost some of his mobility, and while Sir Trevor Brooking may be 64, he didn't have too much pace to lose. But with young Gary Neville (37) doing most of their running, you would still back them to overcome the San Marinese. And, since the opposition was selected from a population of just 32,000, their impotence was inevitable.

England could not be criticised, since the circumstances were so unnatural. San Marino's defence was 11-strong, and relied upon bodies, bodies and more bodies. The strategy might have won an approving nod from Field Marshal Douglas Haig, but it seemed oddly out of place in modern international competition.

Premier League players expect opponents to react predictably to certain situations. San Marino did not oblige, they spoke a different language, marched to a different drum, did their very best to get in the way, and hoped the time would quickly pass. They resembled those 'opponents' that promoters import to face the latest British boxing hope; awkward, unorthodox, totally devoid of ambition yet capable, from time to time, of making the golden boy look foolish.

This they managed for 34 minutes and 24 seconds, when Waaaayne Roooneeeyyy scored his penalty. Events then took their course. England scored five goals, and departed feeling that they'd had a fairly indifferent night.

San Marino conceded five and proceeded to order a grand parade and an open-top bus. And, with glorious disregard for the mood, the fourth-form DJ played 'Football's Coming Home'.